


287

by frequencyshift



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Introspection, Valkubus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frequencyshift/pseuds/frequencyshift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say it eats at you. That each life you take destroys a bit of your soul, until there's nothing left. Eventually, your eyes are just as dead as the string of bodies you've left behind. Husks, devoid of everything but a vacant smile on their lips.</p><p>Ten years is a long time to go on a killing spree.</p><p>(Bo's past, in relation to her relationships)</p>
            </blockquote>





	287

They say it eats at you. That each life you take destroys a bit of your soul, until there's nothing left. Eventually, your eyes are just as dead as the string of bodies you've left behind. Husks, devoid of everything but a vacant smile on their lips.

Ten years is a long time to go on a killing spree.

***

She wakes, gasping. The sheets are shredded and her thighs damp, blood singing through her body. It's a familiar ache, sweet and sour all at the same time.

He'd been a victim her third year on the run. Bill Withers, encyclopedia salesman. He had knocked on the door of the house she was squatting in, having gotten the keys from her previous victim. Natalie had been a real estate agent, and the listings she kept in her purse had been very helpful when Bo needed to disappear again.

Bo's struggling by this point, Natalie a distant memory. She doesn't understand, still. All she knows is that there's only one way to feel better, and Bill looks good enough to eat.

Twenty minutes later, as she pulls him into the bedroom, Bill manages to gasp out, "Gosh, you're so beautiful. Even prettier than my wife on our wedding day."

She finds the picture of his wife and kids while rifling through his wallet for cash. His body is cooling on the bed, vacant eyes following her throughout the room, clothes in disarray. Bo wants to scream, but there's no air in her lungs; all that comes out is a strangled groan.

She dreams of him more than the others. More than Kyle, even. Sometimes Bill's wife is there, too, watching as Bo fucks him dead. Sometimes she joins them.

It's a good night when Bo wakes before she cums.

***

"Bo! Bo, wake up."

Her hand moves for his throat, but Dyson is a little to fast for her. He grasps her wrist, gently, and waits for recognition to return.

It does, and a stuttered breath escaped her as she pulls away. Bo's gaze averts, and he reads the shame in her.

"Bad dream?" Dyson asks softly, moving slightly. His body language encourages her to move into him, and she does, head resting on his chest as her fingers move restlessly over his skin. 

Dyson's almost asleep before she speaks up.

"How many people have you killed?" Bo's voice is casual in a way that fools no one.

"I've been a warrior for over a millennium, Bo," he replies with a dry chuckle. "I've lost track."

She snorts softly, and he thinks that's it. Her body doesn't relax, though, so neither does he.

"How many of them were murder?"

The question throws him, but Dyson knows she needs a serious answer. "Not many," he finally replies. "But there were some." Dyson doesn't know Bo well enough to share details, no matter how good the sex is, but he can give her that. "It was a long time ago, though. Another life. Another me."

He waits, but Bo doesn't continue her questioning. He's asleep before he knows it.

Bo doesn't close her eyes.

***

"I'm a monster," Bo tells Kenzi.

Really, it's more of a drunken whine.

"No you're not," Kenzi scoffs. "What you _are_ is three sheets to the wind. And this three sheets are soaked in tequila, whiskey and rum." She wrinkles her nose a little. "That's gonna hurt in the morning- wait, do you get hangovers? I mean, can you just chi-suck your way through? No hair of the dog? That is _so_ not fair!"

Bo groans, resting her head on the counter of the kitchen island. "Focus," she slurs, sounding a bit maudlin as well. "I am a monster. I have killed so many people, Kenz. Like, hundreds."

"So, you got your face-sucking skills through some not-so-awesome circumstances," the goth girl replies. "I mean, yes, it sucks big ol' donkey-face dick, but it's not your fault." Kenzi slaps Bo on the shoulder. "The important thing is you only use your wonder-snatch for good now. And to get momma that new leather jacket she's been eyeing, because dayum I look good in it."

Bo loves Kenzi, because she accepts her for all that she is. But occasionally, she wonders if there isn't a bit too much Russian mobster in her friend's blood.

***

Every time Lauren wakes up to find Bo still in her bed, the succubus is already awake and gazing at her. There's a strange look in her eye, one Lauren likes to think has a lot of love in it, but she's not sure about the rest. She wonders if the chi Bo gets from sex means she needs less sleep.

Forever incapable of not following where her curiosity leads, it doesn't take long for Lauren to speak up.

"Bo?" her voice rasps, having just woken up to see warm brown eyes meet hers. "You always wake up before me. Do I snore?"

She smiles, obviously fond of the woman in her bed. "No, goof. You don't snore." The smile changes, turning a bit sad. "I guess I'll never really get used to sleeping with… with waking up to a live body."

Lauren sits up, pulling the sheet with her. "But the injections - they're working. Right? It's been fine. You haven't killed anyone on accident lately, have you?"

Bo shook her head, curling up a bit. Her chin rests on her knees as she watches the doctor. "No, nothing lately. But I killed every lover I had for ten years, Lauren. I've lost track of how many dead bodies I've woken up to."

Lauren gets it, suddenly. Somehow, in the mess of Bo arriving in their lives, and all the fucked up things that have happened the past few years, she's forgotten the life the other woman led for so long.

"Bo," she says soothing, reaching out to twine her fingers with the brunette's. "You're fae. You had to feed. It's a biological imperative that all creatures on Earth deal with." She brought her hand up to cup Bo's face. "You were surviving the only way you could."

"I'm fae," Bo says in agreement, her hand covering Lauren's for a moment before pulling it away. "But for the first 28 years of my life, I was human. A freak of nature, but human." The laugh she gives has no humor n it. "For all intents and purposes, a serial killer."

"That's not true," Lauren protests. "It's not the same."

Bo sighs. "No. But I'm not sure it matters."

***

"You're a murderer."

Bo looks up from her drink as Tamsin slides onto the bar stool next to her. She's had a long day with Trick, training for the Dawning, and the last thing she needs is to dust up with the Valkyrie right now.

"You need to learn a new tune, girlfriend," Bo snaps. "That classic you're singing is growing mold."

Tamsin gives a bark of a laugh. "You need to work on your metaphors, succulent." She reaches over the bar, grabbing a pint glass and filling it from the tap. "'Cause that one sucked."

"What do you want?" Bo asks, suddenly tired. Tamsin is exhausting, and Bo hates her and hates that she doesn't really hate her. It makes very little sense, and leaves her feeling more confused than when she was seeing Ryan. It would help if the woman would stop doing random acts of kindness for Bo's friends - her family. Then she could move on.

"To tell you," Tamsin replies with a roll of her eyes. "That you're a murderer." She takes a large swallow of her beer. "Not a very good one, either. I guess that makes you an attempted murderer, actually." She smirks at Bo. "Can't even do that right."

"Kindly get to the point, or fuck off."

"That dark fae feed of your woke up long enough to ID you," Tamsin says. 

Even with her staring, waiting for it, Bo can't help but react. "Shit," she says quietly. "I guess this is the part where you break out the whips and chains."

After a moment, Tamsin wrinkles her nose. "Nah. Not really my thing. Though, whatever floats your boat."

Now Bo is really confused. "Wait, what? You finally get confirmation for something I don't even remember, and you're _not_ arresting me?"

"Nope," the blonde replies, popping the last syllable.

Bo's so frustrated she could pull her hair out. Or Tamsin's. "But _why?_ "

Tamsin stares at her beer. "You may have chi-sucked him into a coma, but you're not the reason he's dead." She lifts the glass, drains it. "That'd be all Dark." She stands up, shoves her hands in her pockets. "I'm still watching you though." She leash forward, green eyes piercing into brown. "I can see the number in your eyes."

Bo's mouth goes dry. "Number?"

"Of souls." She cocks her head slightly. "Highest I've seen in centuries, for one your age." Tamsin's gaze still bores into Bo's. "Rare in a time where we have to be careful to hide who we are. Can't have humans disappearing all willy-nilly now, might blow our collective cover, and then our ass is grass."

There's a distinct possibility that Bo is going to be sick. "I'm a murderer," she whispers, the horror of it settling on her like a sack of bricks.

"Yeah," Tamsin replies, straightening up. "But you wanna know how else you're unique?" She laughs ruefully. "You actually give a shit. I bet you know your number even better than I do, and I can read the damn thing."

Then she's gone, sauntering out of the Dahl without a look back.

Bo doesn't know whether to laugh, or cry, or scream, or all of the above. She chooses to get completely tanked, instead.

***

 _"You're lying! You_ despise _me."_

Bo watches as Tamsin sleeps, face free of troubles and doubts in her newborn innocence. She has the girl's ruined shirt in her hands, fingers feeling the torn edges where wings had burst through.

She needs Tamsin to remember, to fill in the blanks of everyones memories. To explain who this "Wanderer" is, and what the hell he wants with Bo. What the hell he means to Bo.

It hurts, though, to think of the loss of innocence that comes with it. Tamsin has lived for thousands of years, and her death toll has to be innumerable. She can't read the number, the way the Valkyrie can, but she knows it's there. The want to keep Tamsin free of that pain and the need to have the old Tamsin back is tearing Bo in two.

The blonde murmurs in her sleep, a small frown creasing her brow. Bo reaches out, stroking her hair, and with a contented sigh she settles backed down again.

"Two hundred and eighty seven," Bo says softly. "That's the number of lives I took while on the run. The murders I've committed. I've been clean since figuring out who I am - well, sort of. I don't consider defending myself or others murder, especially when it's my family." 

She continues to run her fingers through Tamsin's hair. "I'm still a murderer, though. I've taken the lives of so many who didn't deserve it, and you were the only one who ever really seemed to understand that. Without me asking, without needing to."

Tamsin's eyes flutter open. "Bo?"

"You understood me," Bo continues. "When no one else could or would, you got it. You didn't explain it away, didn't wave your hand and say it didn't matter." Tears started flowing down her cheeks. "You knew exactly who I was, the way _I_ knew who I was, and still you chose me. Still you sacrificed everything for me."

Tamsin scrambles up, confusion evident on her face. "I don't understand," she says, a bit desperately.

"I don't know whether I love you or I hate you, and I kind of think it's both, but I need you back, Tamsin," Bo pleads, shaking from the force of her tears. "Because the only reason I'm not a monster is because you're not, and I need you."

Tamsin is new, and uncertain, and her life is a complete blank until a short while ago. But it tears her apart to see Bo cry, so she hesitantly reaches out to pull the other woman into her arms. The succubus doesn't resist, simply buries her head in the blonde's neck.

Kenzi finds them that way, a few hours later. They're fast asleep, and that Bo's been crying is evident. It's the least sexual embrace Kenzi's ever seen Bo in, but the peace on both their faces gives her pause.

"Maybe I'll just pretend I never saw this," she stage whispers, backing away. "I'm sure there's a totally logical explanation for my bestie cuddling with the bitch reincarnate." She pauses. "Love you, TamTam."

Before she leaves, though, she pulls out her phone and snaps a pic. Because somehow, despite all the fucked up weirdness of it all, she thinks they're kind of cute together.

**Author's Note:**

> Note the First: This is an idea that's been bouncing in my head for months now. Namely, the fact that someone would have to be pretty messed in the head to kill people for ten years against their will. Hell, people who chose to kill (in defense of their country, say) still end up with some massive PTSD. So why wouldn't Bo? It's potentially a theme I'll explore again, because I let the Valkubus run away with this story against my will (I regret nothing).
> 
> Note the Second: I totally used some hinky math to get to the number of kills Bo had under her belt. Basically, I figured she probably killed someone once every two weeks, then factored in a few extras based on random event, potential threesomes, etc. It's probably not the number the show runners would go with, but eh *shrug*.
> 
> Note the Third: Dyson's section takes place during season one, Kenzi's during two, Lauren's early season three, Tamsin's first directly after S3E6 "The Kenzi Scale", and Tamsin's second directly after S4E4 "Turning to Stone".


End file.
